The possibility of a US citizen – Éamon de Valera - becoming president of the Republic in 1959 inspired Myles to throw the race open to the world at large, although as usual, it soon became apparent to him that the ideal candidate was much nearer home. On the day this appeared, The Irish Timesreported the Dalai Lama's arrival into exile in India. At 25, he would indeed have been too young for the Áras, although since the age applied only to his latest human incarnation in a line dating back 600 years, this would surely have been a technicality. In the event, de Valera won and, by the end of his second term 14 years later, would be the world's oldest (fully human) head of state. – FRANK McNALLY
I HAVE pondered a bit further the remarks I made the other day about the Presidency: I said I did not consider Mr de Valera eligible at all because he was born in the USA but if he is allowed to compete, then we seem to have, subject only to the minimum age condition, a possible selection of Presidents from an enormous bloc of the total population of the earth. Just as in the case of a lord mayor, the title of President implies no sex restriction.
First, what IS a President? The word used in the Constitution is uachtarán. There is no such word in true Irish and it is the improvisation of some yahoo. Among similar connotations suggesting top, uachtar means cream, and I would say uachtarán, if it makes sense at all, means ice cream merchant. Very dignified, or glanghaoidhilg an ghur-aire! The correct Irish is Presidens (see, e.g., p. 67 O Lochlainn’s Tobar Fiorghlan, letter from O’Hussey, 1605).
That word is, of course, from the L. Praesideo, praesidens, a president, director, ruler, i.e. “I sit before or in front of.”
Well then, whom should we pick from our profusion of material? The other day I suggested the Dalai Lama but I believe he is too young. In our own country we have many people of the first distinction, such as Joe McGrath, Ernest Blythe, Oliver Flanagan, Lord Brookeborough and the Lady Fitzwilliam but, somehow, I think they would courteously decline the honour, having perhaps other preoccupations.
In any case, on the principle that the director of a large hospital should never be a doctor, I feel we would be well advised to look outside the walls.
What qualifications do we seek? I would specify modest essentials such as good and powerful personality, commanding appearance, accomplished speaker, experience of the world, and the quality of not being afraid on occasion to be a sloven or be so silly as to think that magnum is just an old Latin gender. Nothing very exclusive about that kriterion. Let yourself in, nearly.
Let me suggest a few myself, with brief reasons.
Groucho Marx – Yeats wrote of a lady who had “the walk of a queen,” and while Groucho’s walk is scarcely that of a king, it is some walk. It would look marvellous at a reception in Iveagh House. He can talk, too, and smoke cigars. He might even talk Irish.
Harry Truman – Can talk well, too, has the experience and is a skilled desk-bombardier should war come.
Paul Robeson – Can sing and act, well in with Kruschev and has been persecuted by the Americans. Excellent neutral type. Drinks.
Randolph Churchill – Has the authentic magistral manner, sound bottle-man, raconteur and . . . hates the Irish.
Marilyn Monroe – Hmm. Doubtful. Cute, mind you, but she’d have to bring that Miller with her – sombre type, thoughtful, smokes pipes, writes. Just what would he be? Presidential Consort? I’m afraid the arrangement would snarl up protocol and worry the fancy-pants in Iveagh H.
Well, reader, why not get out your own list and send it on to me. What was that? MYSELF? Aw now look here, have I not enough on my hands at my estates in Santry? Yes, I suppose I could go on living there – “at or near Dublin,” the book says; but I couldn’t have tramps in black tailcoats coming out with those female baboons they call their wives to drink my whiskey, or political bowsies riding out to ask me for their seals. Faith and I would give them seals! Besides, I would have Brendan Behan moving in to live with me.
A horrible thought occurs to me. Article 12 (8) of the Constitution prescribes that the President, on entering office, shall take a solemn (and I think blasphemous) oath about upholding the Constitution and the laws. If elected, I might agree to recite the words, but first warning those present that I regarded the oath as an empty formula and not binding on me in conscience. Has been done before, a man told me.
To celebrate the work of Myles na gCopaleen,
The Irish Times
will print one of his Cruiskeen Lawn columns each day during October